Uptown Girl, Downtown Song
by sweetdetection
Summary: This is a two-parter, first from Margaret's point of view and then from Andrew's, that attempts to fill in the gaps of that final day in Alaska. It starts just before the wedding in both instances. Full summary inside.
1. Margaret, Uptown Girl

**NOTES: **This began life as the second chapter to "Effectively Drowning" and became its own project. But don't despair, fans of "Effectively Drowning"! There will be a second chapter for that story as well, since there was such a demand. _This_ story fills in some of the gaps, in Margaret's point of view, of that final day in Alaska. It starts just prior to the wedding and follows the events of the day. There will be a second chapter ( already half-written! Yay! ) that does the same thing, only from _Andrew's_ point of view. The chapter title was taken from song lyrics. The song is called "Downtown Song" and it's by a band called Anberlin ( although it may be a remake, I'm not sure ). I hope you enjoy, and I always welcome feedback!

* * *

**Uptown Girl**

* * *

Margaret was going to be married in an hour. That combination of words seemed strange to her: _I'm going to be married in an hour._ It was quite an adjustment, since she'd simply assumed that she _wouldn't_ get married; or, if she did, that her nuptials were still several years in the future. Now the event was only moments away, and she felt like she was living in someone else's body. She had let Annie fuss over her all morning, and had only just sent her to take her place in the ceremony. It had taken some convincing, but at last, Margaret was alone.

Her phone rang. It was Frank.

Her mind was on the feel of Andrew's powerful arms and shoulders under her hands. Had that only been the previous morning? She looked at herself in Annie's wedding dress and remembered why it was important to do this. It _was_ important, her career was important. But was it _this_ important? It had seemed like it once, but that was before chanting in the woods and breakfast in bed and naked collisions and wedding dress fittings and being saved from drowning.

_It's still important,_ her mind insisted.

Frank left a message. Again.

There was a whole barn full of people in there, waiting for her to swear lifelong love and devotion to the town's beloved golden boy. And she had thought this whole thing would be straightforward, too. She'd just forgotten to take into account the fact that every moment it became more and more real. Her realization had crystallized when Andrew had, with quiet fury, told his father and Mr. Gilbertson that they were really engaged, really in love, and by the way everyone was invited to the wedding tomorrow.

_I fell for him._

Margaret's eyes were wide in the mirror. _I actually fell in love with him._

Under any relatively normal circumstances, realizing she was in love with the man she was going to marry might have been a _good_ thing. And it wasn't as if she had a choice. If she didn't speak her marriage vows this morning, the life she'd built for herself since she was sixteen would crumble around her. Loving Andrew should have been an unexpected bonus. But of course, he was still laboring under the impression that this was a lie. That soon enough, they would be divorced.

_Divorced._ But she didn't want a divorce.

There was no time to dwell on it now. Margaret straightened herself up, made sure her eyes were dry and loosened her death grip on her bouquet. She took one last glance at the room that she had spent her last days as a single, independent woman in, and she headed toward the barn and her marriage. She was ready for this. She had to be. No one else was insane enough to get her out of this jam. And though she hated the idea of lying to Andrew's family, it was for a very good cause. Plus karma was going to get back at her in the end. Like it or not, Andrew was going to leave her. They'd get their divorce, he'd become editor, and she would be stuck looking for an assistant all over again. And ugly one this time.

She had almost talked herself into believing it when she entered the doorway of the barn. But then Andrew changed her mind again.

He was far more handsome than he had any right being as he stood at the alter, waiting for her and honest-to-God in a tuxedo. And even though she knew he hated them, he made that one look like it had been tailored especially for him. Which, knowing Gammy Annie, was very possible.

His expression was very serious but not grim. In fact, he seemed almost contented as he waited for her to join him at the end of the aisle. If he was nervous, he was hiding it well. He was also staring at her, watching her every move.

It wasn't until she'd taken Annie's arm and made her way halfway up the aisle that she could see the telltale movements that betrayed Andrew's nervousness. He was shifting his feet, just a little, and there was an intensity to his gaze that she didn't recognize. Then again, she'd learned more in two days with him here than she had in three years together in New York, and she had a feeling he had a lot more to show her about himself before this was all over.

For some reason, as they turned toward ( oh God _Ramone_ ) the pastor, she thought, _It's like Christmas in a cup_. And she knew she couldn't ruin his life and his family just to save her job. So when Ramone asked for objections to the marriage, it was Margaret herself who volunteered one.

* * *

Margaret's pen flew over the paper. Though the barn was no doubt in an uproar and her ex-fiancé was no doubt trapped in the middle of it, she knew that Andrew could burst in at any moment. A small part of her wished he would -- the same part of her that had gotten tattoos when she was sixteen. The usually much more dominate and rational part of her had failed to kick in with the assurances that a way out was what he wanted yet.

She read the letter again and thought it left too much -- far too much -- out. But there was no time. She grabbed her stuff and headed for the door when a flash of blue caught her eye in the mirror.

_Annie's necklace_, she thought, touching it gently. She'd almost forgotten to give it back. She laid it down gently on top of the dress, her heart all hairline fractures now. Then she walked out before she couldn't, unsurprised that Andrew hadn't come diving in to stop her from going.

Mr. Gilbertson was waiting for her at the pier.

* * *

Frank called while she was flying back to New York. She wanted to shut her phone off, but she didn't. Couldn't.

_What if…? _She stopped herself. Andrew would have called if he was going to. For him it was a business deal. She had already called New York and informed them of her recommendation to make Andrew an editor. If Bob didn't fire him simply out of spite, he would get his promotion.

She shuddered at the thought of Bob taking over her position. She might have left that for Andrew, too, if he'd had the experience the partners were looking for. She knew he had the work ethic and the eye. She doubted he was ruthless enough for it, though. Being a senior editor was not a role that would win anyone a miss congeniality contest.

Business used to help her keep her mind clear. But now it only reminded her of her great professional loss. _And…_yes, and of losing Andrew, too.

Well. There was hope yet. Maybe the plane would crash.

* * *

She heard the little pop-up windows explode onto computer screens as she walked through the office, her mouth set in a grim line. As usual, she ignored everyone while they scrambled to get back on task. It might have been comforting after her insane weekend were she not scheduled to leave for Canada in a few hours.

Even the partners were there, waiting in her office. They looked as though they'd spent the last ten minutes practicing how to look composed and yet sorrowful to see her go. She was amused because even after practicing, they were still bad at it.

"Margaret." Her boss frowned deeply, and it creased his forehead, and Margaret thought, _careful, your face might freeze that way._

"We're so very sorry you have to go."

"Sometimes love just doesn't work out," said her other boss, and she wondered if his ex-secretary/wife was aware that he was flirting with his new secretary.

"True. Gentlemen, if you please. I have a lot of packing to do."

"Of course, of course," the said, graciously, and left. And she got started.

* * *

It had all reminded her of Andrew. All of it. All of it was somehow connected to a thing he'd said or something she'd forced him to do. She packed her way through the memories and the despair. She packed and packed and when the boxes were full she stacked them. And still she felt desperate, still she tried to come up with other ways to salvage her career from this setback. She didn't even want to think about how she might salvage her wrecked self-image and her confused heart.

* * *

He was there. Margaret didn't know what to say at first, but he was there, in the office, staring at her and panting. _Panting?_ And really, truly there.

* * *

After Andrew was done kissing her in front of every single person that ought to be trembling with fear of her, Margaret took back the paper with the Toronto address and tore it up. She was glad to see that most people had returned to their tasks once the main show was over, although there were a few more smiles now. Even Margaret indulged in one. And Andrew, pleased with his public spectacle, leaned against a desk and gave her one back. Then he handed her Gammy Annie's necklace and she could not speak for a moment. Then she slipped it on and changed the subject, embarrassed by her obvious emotion at his gift.

"So…where did you run _from?_" she asked. Andrew lifted a shoulder in what was almost a shrug.

"I had the taxi driver let me out a few blocks short. Construction. I didn't think I'd catch you if I sat around in the traffic. But I did get stopped by a cop." He looked vaguely indignant. "I didn't know you could speed on foot."

She said, "Oh," still stuck on the part where he'd run a few city blocks just to catch up to her in time. After flying from Alaska, and taking a taxi from the Bronx.

"I called Immigration on my way over."

That caught her attention. She opened her mouth to ask and he lifted a hand to silence her before she got started.

"The interview's next Monday," he told her, very dryly. "I still have our binder, don't worry."

"So much for a celebratory weekend."

Andrew raised his brows. "I didn't think you celebrated…well, _anything,_ really."

Margaret shrugged. "Sure. Just I usually do it alone. At home."

He smiled wryly, no doubt having expected that answer, but there was compassion in his eyes, too.

"Not anymore, Margaret," he said, and she thought it was maybe the second-most perfect thing he'd said to her today ( the first being, "Marry me").

Then he said, "So when should I pick you up for our first date?"

And Margaret bumped his previous comment to third as his arm slid around her shoulder right there in the middle of the office.

"Five," she told him, and smiled. "You're going to make me miss my plane."

"That _was_ the master plan," he agreed. "Let's unpack your office. And then you can help me move into Bob's old one."

"Oh? You think you're getting Bob's old office?"

"Oh, absolutely. I think I've really, really earned it," he told her as they began to unpack, and she didn't seem to be able to argue that point as she would have liked.

* * *

The phone rang. It was Frank. They both looked at it, and then Margaret pressed _Ignore_ and together she and Andrew sipped their cinnamon soy lattes.

"It really is like Christmas in a cup."

There was a laugh, then, "Shut up."

And his arm was around her as they waited for his parents and Gammy Annie to land.


	2. Andrew, Downtown Song

**NOTES: **This one was a quick write, as I suspected it might be. Anyway, this second half is Andrew's point of view, filling in some of those same gaps that Margaret's point of view covered in the first half. I hope you enjoy it, the ending is my favorite. But I'm a sap anyway. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first part! I love reading your reactions to the stories, and my reviewers have been really good to me!

* * *

**Downtown Song**

* * *

The dog was licking his face. Andrew managed to unglue one eye and pushed the puppy away, and then he lied there for a long moment and thought, _Today is my wedding day._ But where was the accompanying resentment at being bullied into it? He couldn't seem to find it.

Kevin clamored back up on his chest and Andrew looked at him, then began to stroke his white fur.

"I'm getting married today," he told the dog. The dog, in an ecstasy of joy at being petted, only flattened himself further against his chest.

* * *

Andrew was standing at the alter. His mother and grandmother kept kissing him proudly, and the entire population of Sitka had turned out to see him say his vows. Including, he couldn't help but notice, Gertrude.

If there had ever been a love of his life, it was probably her. She was agreeable and fun and adventurous in an outdoorsy sort of way. She was close to his age and she loved kids, and once they'd talked about making a family together. In short, she was the complete antithesis of everything Margaret had ever been while at the same time the combination of everything Andrew had ever wanted. He looked at her in the audience and thought about the time when he'd wanted it to be her up here with him. But the memories were oddly dull.

He had never really given up on her, not even after he'd made his life in New York. There were still times when he had been on the verge of picking up the phone and calling her, and up until this whole Margaret fiasco, he had been looking forward to seeing her again at Gammy's birthday party. Of course, the circumstances he'd imagined were wildly different from reality. And he just didn't feel anything of that old passion she used to kick up in him. He couldn't admit there were no feelings at all. A very strong affection remained, and she was still very pretty. But she lacked a certain ( _lashing temper? Vicious tongue? _) fire. And so he stood at the alter and waited for Margaret. His bride.

When she did appear, his first reaction surprised him. Gammy's wedding dress was too old fashioned to be considered vogue just yet, and still, Margaret was a beautiful bride. All the heads in the barn had turned to watch her and Gammy approach, though his father had shot _him_ a glance before turning as well.

_Let him think what he wants._

Andrew's eyes never left hers. As they turned to face Ramone, he was still sneaking peeks. She looked calm and refined, and it was her appearance of serenity that was making him nervous. He struggled to remember that this was a business deal, but every time he tried, he could feel her death grip on his hand as he yanked her out of the icy ocean and then her wet, cold body smashed into his side as he tried to get her warm again. Or the stupid pajamas she'd brought to Alaska. Or, God help him, her naked and damp and crashing into him at full speed. But mostly just how terrified she was about losing the family the Paxtons had tried to become for her.

He came back to the present when Ramone asked for objections and he stiffened, certain his father had something to say. But no, it was Margaret that had her hand up, and ice ran down his spine. He panicked, and not because she was about to tell his whole family that they'd been lying this entire time ( thus proving his father right ), but because she was rejecting _him._

But it was too late, she was already making her goodbye speech.

* * *

There was panic and there was scolding and there was discord as Sitka watched Andrew get jilted at the alter. He stood there, alone, and wondered for a moment what it was he'd done that the whole marriage thing was so damn jinxed for him. First Gert, now Margaret. He was beginning to believe that he would probably never be married, not at this rate.

As the town collapsed around him and his family descended on him demanding explanations ( all except his father, standing near his seat and smug in the knowledge that he was already fully aware of the truth, or so he thought ), all Andrew could think about was Margaret. He tried to conjure up some of that old, familiar hatred, hoping it might comfort him in his desperate confusion. But no. He had to get out of the barn. He had to find her. To yell at her. To demand an explanation. To demand she do what she said she would and _marry_ him. Damn it, they'd had a deal.

He'd forgotten, momentarily, about becoming an editor, or saving her job, or whatever the original motivations had been for this whole production. The only deal he wanted honored was the one where she'd promised to say, "I do," in front of his family. In front of their guests. And since he seemed to be infatuated with her, in front of _Ramone._

He brushed aside his mother and grandmother and did the only thing that made any sort of sense out of this entire weekend. He went after Margaret.

* * *

Her note was a crumpled mess. He retrieved it and smoothed it out and then proceeded to blame this whole entire mess on it.

_Stupid note._

* * *

The plane was built for transporting the injured or the gravely injured, and it was moving much too slow for Andrew's peace of mind. His mother was stroking his shoulders soothingly and Gammy's eyes still twinkled with the pleasure of her successful fake heart attack, but Andrew and his father were both still and silent. Andrew pressed his laced fingers to his mouth and waited, dying, as the plane made its slow way to Sitka's airport.

_Stupid plane._

There was never any traffic at Sitka's airport. Margaret's plane would no doubt leave on time. He lose his best -- maybe his only -- shot if that were to happen. The med-evac plane was just not going fast enough. They wouldn't make it there in time.

_Stupid airport._

He stared hard at the paneling of the side of the plane. And though he was not often very religious, he prayed. And prayed.

* * *

The next plane to New York was a couple hours behind hers, and the flight from Sitka to Juneau had left him feeling rough. He boarded the plane, stole a window seat, and brooded out at the world from it. Stupid, rash, efficient Margaret. She was slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do but wait out this flight and hope he made it to New York in time. Hell, with his luck, the plane would probably crash before they touched down.

His fingers brushed her note, which was still in his pocket. Along with his grandmother's necklace.

He had insisted on going alone, even though his mother, Gammy, and even his _father_ had offered to go with him. But no, he had to face Margaret one-on-one. She was already scared. He didn't want her to feel as though the Paxtons were ambushing her. Though, in a way, they were. She had made herself a part of the family somehow -- no one was quite sure when she'd become so dear to them, let alone Andrew. But they all wanted her back. Even Kevin had moped when a search of the house hadn't turned her up.

Andrew tapped his fingers on his armrest and glared at the greater expanse of the world, worried. And angry that he was worried. And above all, stupidly, rashly, crazily in love. Somehow. He still hadn't figured out the when and the way of that one.

* * *

He had run nine and a half blocks. _Nine and a half_. What kind of crazy asshole ran _nine and a half city blocks _to get a girl? That kind of stuff only existed in movies. But the cab never would have made it from her apartment to the offices in time.

So he ran. And, miraculously, people moved out of his way. After all, even in New York, a man running down the street ( particularly without cops hot on his tail ) was strange.

* * *

Well, he was proud of himself. He'd scored a girlfriend and a fiancé at the same time and proposed in such a way that he had become an instant Colden Books legend, at least in the girls' bathroom gossip. Of course, the Immigration thing was a drag, but he'd handled worse over the course of the weekend. As he and Margaret unpacked her office, he noticed that her cheeks were red and her eyes were getting damper and damper with each blink. Those were coming more rapidly as well. She caught him looking.

"Dust," she said, always strong.

"Dust," he agreed, and pulled her into his chest.

"Mm'okay," she insisted against his shirt.

"Sure, I know that," he replied. "But there's no dust right there."

And she laughed even as he felt her hot tears beginning to soak his shirtfront.

* * *

He took her on a date at five in the evening. They went to dinner and then to a movie, and they walked to his apartment afterward which, though far from squalid, was in fact a studio, and it was in fact filled with yellowing Penguin classics. And, to his credit, Clancy novels. Margaret looked at him and he looked back at her, and then, to his very great surprise, she burst into unrestrained, uncontainable laughter.

And he laughed with her and thought, _I did the right thing when I said I'd marry her._

They sat together on the couch and leafed through a couple of the Penguin books, discussing them, and before long she was leaning against his chest and he was reading out loud. Books had always been their common language, it was an easy thing to fall back to now.

"Andrew," she said, and she sounded sleepy.

"Yeah?"

"Are you really a snuggler?"

He paused. "I guess. Yeah."

She smiled and he wasn't sure he liked the smug look on her face. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing. It's nothing." She…well, she _giggled, _for lack of a better word, and Andrew peeked down at her in surprise. "It's just…well, I figured you would be."

He groaned and smacked her with one of the couch cushions. "I draw the line at hand-cut heart confetti crap," he told her.

"Noted," she told him, but she was still smiling and still smug. And he thought, _Humphry Bogart. Masculine._ He hated confetti.

"Don't make me club you and drag you to a cave," he warned her, though she didn't look too worried. Finally, he gave up and went back to reading to her.

* * *

They were in the airport. He'd managed not to spill the coffee, and they sat in the uncomfortable chairs that were the mainstay in every American airport. His arm was draped over the back of her chair and he thought he really was good at this whole doting, devoted fiancé thing. It really was easy. Especially since he liked embarrassing Margaret so much.

They both stood as his family appeared, and Annie was carrying a travel kennel.

Margaret turned to him. "They brought the dog?"

He grinned at her and shrugged. "He missed you."

Margaret groaned and he gave her shoulders a squeeze. "They all did," he added, and then her new family was upon them. There were hugs and kisses and handshakes, and as they headed toward the exit, Margaret reached over and very quietly took his hand.

Andrew squeezed hers gently and thought maybe they'd get married in a barn at Christmas in Sitka, for real this time.


End file.
